Pigeon Memories

Twice per day, like clockwork, a lone pigeon lands on the window sill at work, pecks the glass. A taunting reminder to my soul that I am the one sitting in the glass cage. A reminder that when the sky beckons, it is often a time to drop everything, and fly! Within reason of course.
This last week has been pretty quiet for paragliding as the weather has been less than flyable. In fact, it has been completely miserable. You would think I was living in the Oregon or something with all the rain (I do love Oregon by the way). I was able to sneak out for a short evening session on the North Side with only a few other pilots between gust fronts. It was an erie sky, but I just had to get out and get some time logged in my new wing from Skywalk. So with the lack of flying, it has caused some reflection.

My friendly pigeon. At least it is a picture.

A week or so ago all signs pointed to a potential XC day. As the day progressed I watched the cumulus clouds through my glass cage, bubble in perfect succession across the sky. It is still early spring, but I decided to give my home site a go. As I was hiking up to the launch, the air felt still....nothing lifting. When no air is lifting, my spirits often sink at this site, but hey, at least my feet will leave the ground. My home site is tricky in that you only have about 60 seconds to find some lift before you are on the ground! A few of my friends join me. We lay out our wings and wait. A promising piece of air lifts, and I launch. I rise for a few minutes then begin to sink. No lift anywhere, so I land halfway up the hill. Pull the wing from the sage brush, shoulder the load and hike back to the top. Clark and Paul attempt, with the same results.
Back on launch the air goes completely still. Looks like another sled ride. It is hot, so I take off my warm coat, stuff my gloves in the pockets of my shell and ditch my hat and all the camera gear into the back of my harness. My friends do the same.  I watch a bird off to my left slowly rising. Hmmm, still no breeze. I feel a little air on my sweaty face, enough to pull up my wing. I guess I will go, I should probably go home and see my family anyway. I smash my way through the scrub oak, turn left and settle into the harness. The precious seconds tick by, and the ground gets ever closer. I feel a gentle surge and my variometer beeps back. I turn. I center in the weak core. 50 turns later I am above 12,000 feet (~4,000m) nearly over Twin Peaks with Paul right below. My bare hands are freezing. I am able to pull my gloves from my pockets, put them on and keep climbing. So often when flying I find myself looking down; looking for thermal triggers, but at this altitude my attention turns up as we climb to cloud base. The lift increases, and it is time to head to the boundaries of the cloud. Speed bar engaged, and off we go.
The view of the Wasatch is indescribable. Still covered in snow, and being a thousand or more feet above the tallest peak. Yes, a view that not many humans get to experience. Oh sure, from an airplane maybe, from a cage, but not with the wind flowing across your face; not in the quiet solitude of nature. It is truly a touch of heaven above the earth. No camera this time. Just the memory.
Paul and I head towards Mount Olympus, then turn back. I hear Clark crackle through the radio. He too has found his way up over 9,000 feet. We chatter back and forth and decide to turn south and head for Draper. Clark has not yet done the milk run from here to The Point, so I tell him to stick together and we will make it in. From nearly 12,000 feet it is difficult to perceive depth, and seeing Clark below I fear we may not make it. Once over Little Cottonwood Canyon we decide to fly to Granite Park....a great first XC for the year. As we near the park I see Clark find some lift and start to turn. I quickly follow, and also find it. 30 turns later we are back at 11,000 feet. We make the turn south and literally glide all the way to Draper. A safe landing, despite the frozen bones. A few minutes pass and Paul glides in to land. A successful day. All smiles.

As I now sit in my glass cage, it is days like this that keep me sane, keep me looking forward to great adventures that lay ahead. Remind me of experiences I have been so lucky to have, experiences that so few ever taste. So when the pigeon knocks on my glass cage, It is a reminder that I just have to smile.